Time to Kill
by Fellowshipper
Summary: After being suspended by the WWF, Edge has some time on his hands.


Title: Time to Kill

Notes: This . . . is not at all like I'd planned. Oh well. A note of warning, though - there's some light hints of slashy stuff in here, so if that squicks you out or anything, you might wanna turn back while you can. 

******

The only thing that really concerned Edge about his jail cell was the youth across from him who, for some reason, kept continually eying him as if he were a piece of meat -- or a potential date. 

Edge shivered involuntarily and sank closer against the wall. 

Staring up at the ceiling and taking a false interest in the watermarks, he tried to remember how exactly he had gotten to this point. Yes, he had reached his breaking point with William Regal. Yes, he had gotten a bit carried away of late and gone somewhat psychotic on unsuspecting victims. Surely everyone should be entitled to that. 

Of course, the WWF officials had finally drawn the line and enforced punishment when Edge flipped out and kidnaped Regal. The authorities had been called when they found him bound and gagged in a hotel room in a less than dignified situation. Hence, the current jail time. 

Maybe someone would bail him out soon. 

Yeah. 

Edge sighed and let his eyes drift lazily around the cramped cell. Two other men sat there, one brought in shortly after Edge's own appearance, presumably due to drunk driving violations since he was passed out in the floor and stinking of cheap booze. The other man was the young man across from him, slouched against the wall with his arms wrapped around himself. His thick leather jacket made him appear much larger than he was, but there was no hiding his lanky, just barely muscled form. Deep brown eyes were set in a pale face, though they were obscured by the shaggy blond hair that fell into his face. 

And he was staring at Edge. 

It was creepy. 

Edge huffed and tried to ignore the boy -- whatever his name was. Yes, he was known to have rather . . . ambiguous sexual tastes from time to time, and yes, the boy was attractive in an androgynous sort of way, but Edge had no desire to become another statistic of what happens when you're bored in jail. 

The sound of scuffling outside made him stir, daring him to open his eyes enough to look out through the bars to see someone arguing quietly but sternly with an officer. Nothing unusual about that at all, save for the fact that the man that mostly kept quiet was about two times bigger than the officer. Speak softly and carry a big stick, Edge always said. Or, in this case, speak barely and carry a big forearm. Whatever. 

Since it gave him something to do other than try not to get scared by the boy across from him, Edge decided to try listening in on the battle being waged just out of the confinement of the tiny cell. 

"Look, buddy, I really don't think it's a good idea to get this guy outta here. I mean, do you even know why he's in here?" 

"Yeah, man, I do. But I'm offering to post bail, so what's the problem?" 

"I don't think you understand." 

"Aren't you just supposed to take my money and unlock the door?" 

There was a pause, and with a muffled curse and a few grumbled remarks, the officer stalked around the side of the desk and pushed a key into the lock, glared back at the man who was just out if Edge's vision, and then yanked the door open. 

"C'mon," he motioned to Edge, though he was obviously unhappy with the choice. Edge looked around anxiously, shrugged, and finally gave an acknowledging nod to the boy across the cell. Just barely flustered, the boy cast his eyes to the ground, choosing to study the cracks in it rather than the previous object of his attention. 

Of course, Edge had no interest in that once he saw who it was that had bailed him out. 

As he exited the cell, he gained his first glimpse of his personal savior of the moment in one Rob Van Dam. He was as unlikely a savior as anyone, making Edge stand motionless and stare in shocked silence for several moments. 

"Hey," Rob greeted with his ever-present grin. "Need a ride?" 

"Uh . . . y-yeah, sure." 

"Cool." 

The two made their way out into the parking lot, Edge shivering as soon as he set foot outside the police station. The cold January air hit his upper body, left bare after being thrown in jail while shirtless, and he wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt to shield his body from the cold. Apparently, he'd gotten soft since leaving Canada. 

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Rob, as was evidenced when they reached the maroon sedan he was driving. Edge refrained from commenting on how very much of a family car it seemed. Nevertheless, they climbed into the car and Rob turned in his seat with the flexibility of a cat missing half its bones, enough to make Edge cringe and turn his head. Rustling sounds came from the backseat, ending only when Rob turned back around and tossed a windbreaker to his companion. 

"Always be prepared," he mumbled with a vague boy scout sign. He looked around for a minute, feeling around the steering wheel's base and then by the gear shift, huffing in exasperation. "I hate this thing. I need The Beast." 

The Beast, Edge remembered as he slid his arms into the jacket, was Rob's affectionate term for the beaten black Jeep he favored. The thing was at least half a decade old, a standard shift, the back window was spidered and splintered in many different directions, the locks no longer worked, and the passenger's side window only rolled down when it felt like it. Yet, for all the paychecks he consistently brought home, Rob loved The Beast and so never bought a new car. 

After finally giving in to the fact that the sedan was an automatic, Rob pulled out of the parking lot with a protesting curse and a sharp acceleration once they were on the road. Edge gripped the dashboard for leverage and shot a frightened glance to his left. Rob grinned impishly. 

"Sorry. I have a speeding problem sometimes." 

"Obviously." 

"Well, I didn't bail you out so I could get you killed on the road," Rob reasoned, fiddling with the radio controls and nodding in approval when he happened across a classic rock station. Pink Floyd blared out of the speakers; Edge groaned. "What? You don't like 'em?" 

"I'm not a pothead, so none of their songs make sense to me." 

Rob wisely remained quiet on the issue. 

"So. Um . . . you gonna tell me why you got me out or am I supposed to guess?" 

Rob shrugged broad shoulders, speeding up to make it through a yellow stoplight. Edge closed his eyes and told himself that if they were to get hit, he'd rather not see it coming. 

"We've teamed up lately. It'd look bad if I had to get a new tag partner 'cause my old one's a psychotic jailbird." 

Edge's brow narrowed. "I'm not psychotic. Pissed off, yes, but I'm not psychotic." 

"Yeah, okay, man. Whatever." 

An awkward silence followed, broken only by the rustling of Edge's jacket. Finally he huffed and asked what had been weighing on his mind the past several minutes. "Seriously. Is this gonna be like some bad porn movie where you take me back to the hotel and . . . y'know." 

Rob gave his trademark half-smirk. "I don't swing that way, man. 'Sides -- Jeff would kill me." 

A deep blush rose into Edge's cheeks. Rob ruthlessly continued. 

"Hey . . . you guys even still together?" Though his question had been serious, he couldn't help but laugh when Edge tried to sink deeper into his seat. "Aw, c'mon. I mean, I'd probably think Jeff was hot, too, if I was a chick." 

"Look, can we just drop this, please?" Edge asked pitifully, voice muffled faintly since his face was buried in his jacket. "It's one o' those painful memories I'm in the process of blocking." 

"Sure. I'm not really interested in your sex life anyway." 

"I'd be more worried if you were, to be honest." 

Rather than continue the friendly argument, Rob closed his mouth and pulled into the hotel parking lot. The fact they chose a spot as far from the building as possible didn't both Edge so much as having to walk all that way with a jacket that was too short and risk being spotted by insane teenage fans.

"Sorry about the parking space, but I like getting exercise where I can." 

Edge only glared and dove out of the car, making a mad dash for the main building so as not to have crazed females attack him. Any other time he would have enjoyed the attention, perhaps even given in to one of them if he'd had a bad night. This was not, however, one of those times. 

If traveling with the Hardyz had taught him nothing else, it was that their newly-acquired fame left them able to have several bizarre indulgences. Besides Matt's comic book subscriptions and Jeff's attempt to single-handedly keep Manic Panic in business, their one shared extravagance was choosing the priciest hotels wherever they went. Allegedly, that was because they had spent so much of their early careers in roach motels. Edge suspected it was simply because the country bumpkins got a sadistic kick out of having maids and walking in every afternoon to find mints on their pillows. 

It was for that reason Edge felt more than a little uneasy entering the hotel and being forced to deal with the superior glances he received from the desk clerks. Much as he wanted to throw one of their six-hundred dollar plants at them, he forced a tight-lipped grin and hurried to the elevator. The entire place was really much too trendy for him, from the color-coordinated lobby to the Shakira music playing in the elevator. 

He didn't even *like* Shakira.

The elevator came to a stop at the eighth floor, and for a brief, fleeting second Edge foolishly believed he could make it to his room unaccosted. The illusion was vanquished just as soon as he dug the card key from his wallet and he heard a hauntingly familiar voice behind him. 

"Hey, Edge." 

Carefully beating down the instinctive urge to beat his head against the door, Edge turned and smiled a smile he didn't really feel at all. 

"Hi, Ric." 

Ric Flair flashed his patented charming smile as he neared his employee. "Mind if we talk for a minute?" 

"Um . . . I guess not, no." 

"Great." He gestured to the door, wordlessly encouraging Edge to go ahead and walk inside. "Not bad." 

Edge shrugged carelessly and pulled the jacket off to toss it over the back of the desk chair. After settling down at the bottom of the bed, Edge looked up expectantly at his boss. 

"Looks a lot better than what I had when I was twenty-eight." 

"Seven." 

"Really?" Ric asked, eyebrows raised just slightly. "Huh. But anyway, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." 

"You're not going to fire me, are you?" 

Ric rubbed his brow. "Uh . . . w-well, no, not exactly. See, I understand that you're upset, but several officials have expressed concern over your actions as of late. And, as much as I hate to say it, I agree with them. I hope you know that's why I have to suspend you for a while." 

Edge rolled his eyes but stayed quiet. 

"Don't take it personally. I'd do the same to anyone under these circumstances. If anything, at least this'll give you some time to cool off and get your head on straight." 

Edge grunted. "I'd rather have Regal's head on a stick." 

"See? That's the attitude I'm talking about, son. You need to get your temper under control." 

"Okay, sure. When am I coming back?" 

Ric met Edge's eyes levelly. "I'm not sure yet. I'm thinking of in a couple weeks." 

Edge shrugged again. "Fine. You're not gonna go tell everyone are you?" 

"Of course not." 

Edge waited until the goodbyes had been said before he groaned and fell backwards on the bed, praying he wouldn't wake up for a month.

******

The first thing Edge was aware of upon waking was the phone beside his head ringing loudly. The second thing was the muffled sound of music coming from, Edge assumed, Jeff Hardy's portable CD player.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" 

Jeff gave an impossibly innocent grin while pulling the headphones down around his neck. "There's no sex in your violence, Edge." 

"What -- oh." Edge sighed deeply, pulling the blanket up over his head. The first venture into their relationship had come about after Edge had made fun of Jeff's rabid Bush fascination and Jeff made him listen to "Mouth." Chaos ensued. 

"So," Jeff went on, skipping through the CD's tracks until he found "Little Things," "I heard you got suspended." 

Edge cursed sharply under his breath, thankful the ringing phone gave him an excuse not to start yelling. He grabbed the phone off its base. "Hello?" 

"Hi, sweetie." 

"Mom?" 

"Yeah. I just wanted to call and check on you since rumor has it you got suspended." 

"Really." 

"Uh huh. Jeff said so." 

Edge turned narrowed eyes to Jeff. "Did he?" 

". . . oh boy. I'm not supposed to know that, am I?" 

"No, but Mom, I gotta go. I'll call back later, alright?" 

"Sure, hon. Bye-bye." 

"Bye." 

Slammed the phone down. Jeff, being Jeff, smiled and brushed his now electric blue hair out of his eyes. "Well, we never seem to talk much anymore." 

"And has it ever occurred to you that maybe that's 'cause you're a loudmouth?" 

"Not once," Jeff admitted with a perfectly straight face. 

"You know, Jeff, I'm not even going to ask how you got in here or why you and my mom already know about my . . . involuntarily vacation." 

"Good, 'cause you wouldn't like my answers for either." 

Edge sighed and pulled the pillow over his head. 

"So . . . since you've got some time to kill, what do you plan to do?" 

"I'm goin' to Disneyland. Jeez, Jeff, I dunno. I hadn't really planned anything." 

Jeff grinned and scratched his ear. "You could always be my sexy love monkey." 

"Your -- I swear, you get more an' more bizarre every day." 

"I'll take that as a maybe." 

Edge kept quiet beneath the pillow.

"Well, hey, look -- I promised Matt I'd go shoppin' with him an' Lita, so I better go. If you change your mind . . ."

"Bye, Jeff." 

After the younger man had left, Edge rolled out of bed and landed with a dull thud on the floor. So. No work for a while, meaning he'd have to find something to amuse himself with or risk being bored to death. There wasn't much to do, really, but the only obvious option was the one he tried to avoid at all costs. Then again, it was either go that route or risk spending the week with a clueless, lovesick Hardy.

Edge more or less crawled to the shower; if he hurried, he might even be out of the hotel before the Hardys. 

******

If there was one place Edge hated most on Earth besides a graveyard, it was the hospital. It was, he thought, only one small step removed from the cemetery. 

Because of that intense hatred, he tred with very slow, heavy steps. An old lady in a wheelchair passed him in the hallway and gave a dirty look over her shoulder, mumbling about young punks who think they can have the entire hallway to themselves. Edge ignored her and kept his eyes focused straight ahead. The nurse had said the room could be found at the end of the hallway. Much as Edge wanted to just turn around and walk the other way, he forced himself to go on. One step ahead of the other, that's all there was to it. Step one, step two, left foot, right foot, left, right. 

He took a deep breath when he came to the end of the hallway, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides in attempts to calm his nerves. He could do this. Yeah. Nothing to it. With that in mind, he pushed the door open and peered inside the room only to find a scene that broke his heart. A crumpled form lay motionless in the bed with no visitors around, no balloons or gifts, not even a card. 

And there, in the midst of it all, lay Edge's baby brother. 

Edge walked further into the room, stunned at the sight which greeted him. Christian really was smaller than he usually appeared. The large hospital bed almost dwarfed his slight form. The young man's skin was made that much paler by the whitewashed sheets beneath him. An IV dripped at his side, and various machines beeped methodically to show he was even still alive. 

Edge gripped the back of an unoccupied chair and shut his eyes tightly for a moment to regain his bearings. He exhaled sharply, loud enough to make Christian stir. Dark hazel eyes fluttered open, offended by the intruding light from the window. Christian gave a soft, pitiful whimper of protest. He let his gaze drift for a while, taking note of his surroundings. 

Then he saw Edge.

A glimmer of fleeting happiness flashed in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. His face hardened into an angry scowl, made worse by his brother's apparent concern.

"What the hell do you want?" 

Any number of sarcastic replied ran through Edge's mind, but he thought better of all of them. "I saw what happened with Triple-H and . . . well, I was worried about you." 

Christian snorted derisively, though the simple gesture made his sore ribs ache that much worse. "Whatever. Get out." 

"No, seriously, I was. I hate to break it to you, but you kinda got your ass handed to you. I thought it'd be nice to see if you were still breathing." 

Christian's eyes narrowed to barely-open slits. "Nice of you to pretend you care." He smirked suddenly. "At least he didn't take my belt by using brass knuckles." 

Much as he dearly wanted to smack Christian upside the head for the comment, Edge forced himself to keep his cool. It wasn't fair to attack his younger, smaller brother when said brother was in bed in such pain. If nothing else, he'd just wait until Christian could sit up straight. *Then* he'd smack him upside the head. 

"Well," Edge started, tugging his hair out of his eyes and settling down into a chair at bedside despite Christian's intense, hateful glare, "um . . . how do you feel?" 

"Fine 'til you showed up." 

"You weren't even conscious." 

"Exactly." 

Edge rolled his eyes and folded his hands neatly in his lap. "I know we're not exactly on the best of terms, Chris, but --" 

"Don't." Edge blinked in response, to which Christian huffed. "Don't call me that." 

"Why?" 

"Because I'm not eight freaking years old anymore, incase you haven't noticed. But then, of course you haven't," he explain, the line in his brow steadily creasing. "You've always treated me like I can't take care of myself, like I really *need* your protection. Like I'm some kind of goddamn kid!" Christian more or less snarled, face twisting into a cruel sneer. "I'm all grown up now, Edge. Surprise, surprise. How're you gonna make yourself look good now, like some knight in shining fucking armor?" 

Edge stayed quiet for a moment longer, turning his eyes to the ground and running his hand over his bristly chin. When he spoke, his voice was sullen and low. "I never treated you that way, Chris, and you know it. If I did, I'm sorry." 

"Fuck you." 

"Watch your mouth," Edge shot out instinctively before he had time to bite back the comment. Christian rolled his eyes in frustration. 

"See? That's what I'm talkin' about! I am *not* your kid or baby brother or whatever the hell else it is you seem to think I am!" 

"You're a spoiled brat, Chris, but you're still my brother, and I think I deserve an explanation." 

"You deserve a lot from me, but not gratitude," Christian pointed out with a certain sharp glint in his eyes that nearly drove Edge to the door. Instead, he looked up patiently, prepared to argue a reason from his brother if he had to. 

"I wanna know why you felt like you had to turn on me when and how you did. Why that way, in front of our family and friends and everybody?" 

Christian turned his head to face the window, quite obviously showing he had no intentions on answering. 

Well, at least not until he felt crushing weight bearing down on his chest. 

He gasped for air, just enough to allow for several pained groans and grunts as Edge settled himself down on his younger brother's body, knees pinning him to the bed on either side of his ribs, hands pressing Christian's wrists firmly to the mattress. Christian looked up to see a wild look building in Edge's eyes, a look he was rather unfamiliar with and thankfully so. 

"I want you to listen to me, Christian, and you'd better damn well give me some good answers. Tell me why you turned on me that way and why you did it when you did. And if I don't like what I hear," he added, pressing his knees together enough to squeeze against Christian's battered ribs and making him bite down on his lip to keep from screaming in pain, "we'll start playing 'let's find how many ribs Christian hasn't broken yet'. Got it?" 

Christian nodded wordlessly in reply. 

"Good. Now tell me why you did it." 

Christian took several more shallow gasps, struggling for breath and staring heatedly at his brother. Finally, he gritted his teeth together and forced himself not to whimper from the pain in his chest. "I wanted to be myself. I didn't want it to be 'Edge and Christian' anymore, I just . . . I wanted it to be Christian. I wanted to live my own life, wrestle my own way, not worry about whether or not I blew a move for the team or could have done a move for the team." 

Edge's knees parted just slightly in response, allowing Christian to get a few more gasps in. "Why like that, though? In front of our family and everything?" 

Despite the searing pain, Christian managed a thin-lipped smirk. "I wanted them to know just how much I wanted to be on my own." 

"But -- Chris, why didn't you just *tell* me? You *know* we could've talked it out and split the team up a different way!" 

"That would make it look like I needed your approval, Edge. I didn't then and I still don't. I wanted them to see I wasn't just ditching my tag partner; I was ditching my brother." 

Edge blinked for a second, mind racing to come up with a decent answer. In the end, all he could really do was release his brother's wrists and climb back down out of the bed. With his feet firmly on the ground, he tried to keep his temper under control and his emotions from getting the best of him. 

"You know," Christian continued, "you were always the smarter one, the cuter one, the more popular one . . . you don't know what it's like growing up with an older brother who steals the spotlight every chance he gets." 

"I really wish I knew what was wrong with you, man. I really do." Edge looked up sadly, wishing with all he had he could understand Christian's reasoning for the mess that had happened in previous months. "Even though you seem to think for some reason that I'm out to get you or something, you're still my blood and I -- I still love you. Nothing's going to change that." 

"Leave." 

"Chris, please, c'mon --" 

"Damn you, Edge, just leave!" Christian demanded through clenched teeth, sheets crumpling beneath his hands and being clutched into small round wads. "Now." 

"Alright, fine, I'll go. I . . . hope you get better soon." 

"Get out." 

Though he wanted to say something else, Edge turned on his heel and stalked angrily out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Had he stopped to look behind him or cast a passing glance in the window on his way down the hallway, he might have seen Christian completely tear the sheet beneath him and the tears that blurred his vision before falling down his cheeks. 

How could Edge ever know the truth of his beloved baby brother's decision to turn their lives upside down? How could he know it was all motivated from Christian's desire to, for once, be the protective one in the relationship and keep his brother from being harmed? Was it possible that Edge would ever know the nightmares Christian kept in his head every night and every waking moment simply because he was living by the whims of another and doing their bidding? 

He couldn't, and that was the hardest thing of all to accept. 

Christian rolled onto his side, though even the faintest movement caused his ribs to burn with something akin to liquid fire. It would all be over soon, he knew. He could stop pretending to be someone he wasn't, and Edge would be safe. Better for him to suffer and cry than to be the one trying to piece Edge back together. 

A chilling realization came to him, suddenly as clear and obvious as the constellations his astronomy-loving mother had tried to teach him as a child. An exceptionally geometrically-challenged child, as it turned out, but it was the thought that counted. As long as he was alive, this thing keeping a hold on him would force him to keep lying to Edge, to keep up the pretense of hate and jealousy so the opposite emotions wouldn't show. 

So that was that. 

Eyes slowly turning up to the bedside table at his head, his tear-blurred vision eventually came to focus on a bottle of painkillers he'd talked a nurse into leaving hours earlier. It might not be the best way to go, but it certainly wasn't the worst. 

Hand trembling, he reached out and grabbed the bottle, twisting the cap off and letting it clatter to the floor. It rolled off beneath a chair, and for a brief instant Christian was compelled to go get it and put it back on the bottle. But then Edge's health and perhaps his very life would still be in jeopardy. There was only one choice, really, and it was a shame he hadn't seen it before. Or maybe he had and had just ignored it. He couldn't really be sure of much these days, it seemed. 

Dumping the rest of the bottle's contents into his hands, not caring to count the pills as they came, he felt a fresh batch of hot tears stinging at the back of his eyes. He pushed them back with a silent curse, calmly pushing in pill after pill. 

"I love you, too, bro." 

A minor eternity passed before the bottle dropped from a weakened hand and rolled off into the darkest shadows of the room.


End file.
